Sookie Morrow
|birth= 1980/12/26 |death= |hidep= |race= Hispanic |gender= Female |height= 175 Cm |hair= Black |eyes= Brown |skin= Brown |hidec= |family=Olivia Granera Joe Morrow Scott Callahan |affiliation= LSPD |hideg= |businesses=Lieutenant |vehicles= }} Sookie Granera Morrow was born to Olivia Granera and Joe Morrow. She graduated from the Arizona police acedemy with a goal to become a cop, like her father, Joe, and did her cadet- and subsequent probationary service at , where she continued to study and develop under the tutelage of the various veteran cops and detectives. For ten years her career in law enforcement was everything to her. She worked herself up from a beat cop to serve as a with the city of Los Santos Police Department. Who worked closely with the media relations team, office of the chief and the Chief of Police himself. In present days she joined the political arena, identifying herself as a and a tireless crusader for equal rights. In the beginning of 2001, twenty-one year old Morrow was employed with the Chochise County Sheriff's Office - the Arizona borderland. She got to work with a majority of hispanic deputies and citizens, but also illegal immigrants. Morrow learnt many valuable lessons during her first years as a law enforcenent officer. One attritube that characterizes her to present days is integrity. In the end of 2005 the office had confiscated a significantly large quantity of narcotics. This is when she began her co-operation with the (DEA). The sudden raise of illicit narcotics in circulation worried the agency to a line where they called in police-celebrity Marcus Murphy. A big shot within the DEA. The two met during this period. He consulted the local authorities and Morrow with the sudden rise of illicit narcotics and paved way for numerous sting operations and mapping the underworld. He deffinently left a good mark on Morrow. Los Santos Police Department Murphy pulled a few strings and managed to transfer Morrow over to the San Andreas State Police, 2006. He motivated this behind that Morrow was a young and very potentcial worker that shouldn't have to solve petty crimes in Cochise county. Morrow began an office career as an intern with the administrative department. Years later in September 2010 Morrow was transfered from the Montgomery office to work as captain of the administrative tech for the metro police. A position she would abandom in a two months period. City Patrol Unit On the 13th of December, 2011. Morrow requested to resign from her office job as a captain for the administrative department. Im order to work out on the streets. She was stationed as a beat cop. With the purpose to work with community-police relations. She was given the responsibility for the slavic enclave of Los Santos: Little Moscow. Morrow was not the toughest or coolest police officer in the force, but on the contrary, the mature and emphasizing one. She was a very empathic person in the beginning of her career. Which led her to temporarily take the legal guardianship of a nine year old boy living on the streets Anatoly Chenkov. But deceased in November 2011 from his undetected and aggresive cancer. Her personality changed. Chenkov left an empty place in Morrow. Without anyone to take care of and having to face one of the worlds injustices. This led to an evening that she would very much regret for the rest of her life. She was thrown into the Los Santos night-life with an undisclosed desire to be loved like just any other person. Morrow paid a visit to the infamous Club UniQ just before the Christmas holidays in December, 2011. A club ran by the Italian criminal underworld, the character was however unaware. But was about to find out. She caught young, mysterious and sexy clubber Ramsey. Time flew by and as the club closed up, one pill of ecstacy was slipped into her drink. The two travelled along with a set of friends over to the Silver Mint, another establishment run by the Pacitti Crime Family. Where a brawl took place between Ramsey and two associates of the deadly organization. Morrow ran off, completily petrified, all the way to Pershing Square where she would come to a moment of peace. Taking a moment to process and think the evening through she decided to call her colleauge and friend Ricardo Wright. The man who she secretively has a crush on. Wright told her that it was late and that she should take care of herself. Stunned, scared, under the influence of drugs and alcohol she decided to take a walk. But she didn't come far before she slipped on an undetected spot of ice. Sustaining a pretty serious blow to her head. Leaving her with even more handicaps than before. Dazed, disoriented and emotionally fragile. But luckily for Morrow she was detected by an incompetent EMT-team and was practically dumped in a hospital bed for detox in the hospital and later discharged without any paperwork. If there would have been, there is no saying of what catastrophy it might have caused for her career. After a few budget cuts and sudden raise of activity, Morrow was transferred from Little Moscow to Jefferson's infamous neighbourhood: the Four Points. In the first few days as a community officer she witnessed everything from absurd vandalism, burglaries to assault and battery incidents. Meanwhile, she decided to apply for Special Weapons and Tactics. Three months later she was accepted into a full-time training schedule and no longer a petty beat cop in the Points. Special Weapons and Tactics The commanding officer of the division was none less than Ricardo Wright. The man who had refused to help Morrow in November 2011. Despite that fact, Morrow still had a crush on the man. As time passed by a childish game came to emerge. When Morrow had finished her training Wright was quick to invite her to his fireteam. But to everyones surprise she postphoned him. Telling him that she'd think about it, only to refuse his offer days after. Finally the tables had turned for Morrow, leaving Wright confused and offended. It became clear that the man was a classic man. Stubborn and extremily obssessed to have it his way. A few days passed by. Wright had been trying to persuade Morrow but nothing had really changed. Until Wright ordered Morrow to report into his office. The invitation itself was something remarkable, people rarely was summoned to his office. She clamped inside his office. There stood another sergeant by the doorway, Morrow recognized the man as James Canavan. "Sit down officer", demanded Wright. She sat without uttering a word. "We want you, Morrow", said Rick, "you're tac' trained but nothing more than a street cop." "It saddens me to see such a potencialn go to waste", Canavan filled in. "Give me one hour and I will give you my answer. Please. I'm just asking for one hour gentlemen", Wright approved. Morrow and Wright ended up sharing a coffee. Blackmailing the man: a kiss for her yes. He kissed her. Upon reflecting over the months she had changed a lot. Morrow, who used to be such a sweet and polite woman had transformed into one of Americas toughest women in law enforcement. Another few days passed by. And police was alerted about a high-command being held against his will somewhere in the Los Santos city bank. They quickly learned that the man kidnapped was Daniel Jones. Both patrolsmen and SWAT was dispatched. They sent everyone. Wright, Morrow and the rest of their fireteam cleared the bank without finding Jones. So the team continued down the basement. It was clear to everyone that Jones was held locked up inside the bank vault itself. Morrow opened the gigantic vault by a few inches and one operator tossed in an OC grenade. Rendering both Jones and his taker Hernandez stunned. Wright gave the go-ahead to shoot Hernandez because he was armed with a knife. The man fell. In the huge media aftermath. SWAT was both damned and thanked for. Some said that they could've taken Hernandez alive, meanwhile the other half claimed that it was impossible. Morrow decided to leave the division a few months later for a safer career opportunity. She applied for a desk-job with the metropolitian Detective Bureau. Detective Bureau In the beginning of march 2012, now veteran cop Morrow was brought into the Detective Bureau, working her probation with little but no patience. Scott Callahan The man who was about to fall in love with Morrow was just like her new in the bureau. They found themselves when preparing themselves for a late night-shift together. There was something about Callahan that attracted Morrow and him to her. And before any of them knew it, they had slept together at his place. They did get along as co-workers. But when Morrow woke up the night after, she discovered, much to her surprise. That Scott was her partner proffesionally and personally. This petrified Morrow. You could say that some old wounds were opened. The idea of loosing someone that she loved, like Chenkov a year ago, freaked her out. It became clear that Morrow had some deep emotional issues to deal with. Unfortunately she did so in her own pace. This was something that Callahan couldn't comprehend or handle. Days passed by and Morrow staunchly refused to feed him any real emotions. Which led to him breaking up with her two weeks later. She also resigned from the bureau, merely, to avoid him. But nothing in the world could've prepared her for what she was about to experiance. One week later he was found dead and believed to have committed suicide in his own basement. Those kinds of things While the doors of the church were left opened, I stepped inside with a crowd to perceive this church that looked like any other. Far over yonder near the alter stood a coffin. As did there stand a lady. It was of little relevance what she looked like, though, and not worthy for the eye. Eventually I sat down and watched the theatre from all the way back. I didn’t even know who died, nor the cause, yet I was told he was a police officer. It was somewhat the reason of my presence, yet on the other hand I was new in town and had nowhere to go. Moreover where other than a funeral can you find a bunch of lost, vulnerable souls to befriend over time? At one point this woman would stand up. Tanned skin, black hair, tied back in a knot, and she would step silently towards the alter to take a good look at whoever was laying in that coffin. It was quite obvious she was one of the only that had known this man. Back in SWAT In the middle of June, 2012. Morrow was invited back into SWAT by lieutenant Marshall Parks. This happened only three months after her ex-boyfriend Scott Callahan, had committed suicide. Despite her countless hours of successful therapy. Morrow still had some reckless tendencies. For example, returning to SWAT over a night. Brendan Noonan The month flew by and Morrow was soon to face a terrible fate. She encountered a known Irish-american mobster, outside the donut shop on Pasadena boulevard. The two were not that different from each other. Neither of them backed down. Provoking Noonan to go and purchase a coffee. That he minutes later splashed at her face. Luckily she managed to turn swiftly. Minimizing the injury and future scar to the right-side of her face. Other police officers quickly aided Morrow and brought Noonan down. One of the newspaper issued the next day. Media Relations Section In the end of July, 2012, Morrow returned to active duty. The scar left from Noonan's assault had healed and was barely visible with make-up. But her motivation to work on the streets was gone and saught out a safer position. She applied her interest in the Public Behavioral and Science Team's (PBRT) service. She retired from her position as a sworn patrolswoman and became a "paper pusher". After the turbulence caused by the city council, the Los Santos Police Department found itself hollow. Former LSPD Chief James Canavan had stepped down and appointed sworn patrolsman James Dailey his successor. Dailey's first task was to restructure the department and fill the gaps in the administration. He appointed Morrow as the commanding officer for the PBRT in the beginning of August. Morrow began to work very closily with the PBRT. One of the first changes that she pushed through was to abolish two of the three branches of the team: "police behavioral science" and "law enforcement relations". That left her with one primary goal: "media relations". She converted the Public Behavioral and Relations Team into the Media Relations Section (abbrevated MRS). A department working under the Office of Support Services (OSS). She led the service with an ironfist and revamped everything, sanctioned by her close friend and superior James Dailey. "162" BY FIVE-THIRTY IN THE MORNING THE WORKOUT was done. I felt a lot better. I always did, after. Running makes me feel good. It works the knots out of me. It's a sweet release, a necessary letting go of all the frustration and stress. I enjoy my work; I am a Los Santos cop. I really like it. But there it is. And it's not just any job, of course. It has it's pro's and con's. It's always somewhat draining. So I was tired, but at least the tension of the last week was gone. I could be me again. The happily smiling Lieutenant one-sixty-two. No longer bossy and bitchy one-sixty-two. Not until the next fuck up. By six-thirty I was home in my Vinewood residence. I live in East Vinewood, around the park. I think it's nice. I took an extra-long shower, letting the hot hot water wash away the last of the tension and ease the knots in my muscles, scrubbing off the oozing sweat. By seven-fifteen I felt clean again. I had coffee, cereal, and headed in for work. I packed my things into my Ford and drove down west to Police Plaza. The building where I work is a large... thing, a large war bunker of bricks, near the City Hall. My office is on the first floor, in the front. I have an average office close to the ward. It is not much of a stylish office, but it's mine. All mine, nobody else allowed in, nobody to share with, to mess up my things. A desk with a chair, another two chair for visitors. Laptop, shelf, filing cabinet, drawers. Telephone. Silver plate reading "Lieutenant Morrow #162". The whole set. I looked out the window. It was already a beautiful, hot Los Santos day. Anyone who had worn a suit or anything more than a shirt was now looking fora place to hang it. They keep making the same mistake every day, there is no such place in Pershing Square. What'd they expect really. There is something disarming about listening to the police radio all day. "Officers needs help, 10-12, shots fired", someone always gets hurt. Everyday seven days a week. But you get used to it, I guess, but everyone still turns into a block of ice. Listening carefully. And then returns to do make coffee, file reports or pledge to their superior officer. The knots and stress is slowly building up again. Not that I don't care for my brothers and sisters in arms. Far from it. I feel my heart pounding, you got from zero to a hundred. And I can't help myself but to hold my breathe every time. I guess I have a problem with control... and blood. The sticky, hot, messy, awful blood. I resent the smell. I hear everyone whose ever been hurt in my arms scream louder than a thousand voices. Stab wounds, gunshot wounds, traffic collisions, assaults, everyone who've ever bled in my arms. I remember their faces. The blood is EVERYWHERE. The gang and narcotics detectives called in a shots fired incident, I held my breathe, then they declared it a barricaded hostage situations. No officers shot, they said finally and I gasped after air. I decided to get out in the field. I had been tied up at the office for weeks pushing papers. I jogged down to the garage where our pride and joy rolled out. A large black and shiny SWAT enforcer with the insignia printed everywhere like a trademark stamp. I joined them in a black and white cruiser following behind. It is something soothing about the flashing blue and red strobes and the screech of the sirens. We arrived. Officer, I said, coming up on his side. What do we have? The pricks shot at us when we approached the porch, he said. They won't come out. Don't worry, they're surrounded. I figured, I crouched down beside him. How many men in the backside alleyway? He shook his head. Alleyway? What alleyway? God dammit, get two men to cover the back! I looked around the neighborhood, then over at the anxious officer. I'll help them in the back, a'right? The officer shrugged. Knock yourself out. They're going nowhere. It's game over for them, he said. I joined the officers in the back. I was anxious and excited to be out in the field. We covered the back and the whole neighborhood as SWAT breached inside and deployed a flash bang. They really did shit themselves. They tried to crawl out of the windows with their hands pressed against their ears like a pack of dumb animals. They tripped and fell to the ground, pinned down on the ground by the tinnitus caused by the flash bang. Game over. But one of the men that crawled outside had been stabbed, badly. I instinctively aided him. His intestines was outside, so I stuck them back in and pressed my hands against his ruptured belly. He screamed in agony. I felt a quiver pass over my skin: blood, why must it always be blood. I reassured him that help was close and on their way, but they weren't, they were two minutes out. I felt a strange light-headedness, sickness and dizziness. My heart floundering and my head hammering. Fighting with the terrible rupture, trying to keep it tight and to speak at all. With the mans loud, piercing howl around me like a storm. I could almost feel his pain. It's not that bad, Sir, I gagged, and I felt his hand on my wrists. Help me you fucking cunt!, he commanded. And I tried. My head was whirling crazy and I did not dare to close my eyes again for fear of what might be waiting there for me. And, far worse, the man stared, watching me, demanding that I save his life: but I couldn't, I had no control. To have come so far, all the way to the end and then watch his life just... extinguish. It's horrible. I cry every time I think about it. And this strange thought came into my poor battered head today and I could not bat it away. It was MY FAULT. I didn't keep it tight enough and he bled to death. A drop of sweat rolled down my forehead and into my eye. I blinked at it frantically, making ugly squinting faces in an effort to keep watching the lifeless man and clear the sweat out of her eye at the same time. I must have looked really pathetic, helpless and stunned like a dumb animal myself. There was a small noise and a rush of warm wind came into the air. I spun around. The EMT's arrived and pushed me aside, I crawled aside. A small pool of blood began to spread across the grass, the fat red, sticky blood from the man. It was not deep, it did not spread far, but I shrank away from it, the horrible stuff, with something very near to panic. I crawled, crawled and crawled further away. I was petrified. I needed a moment to catch my breathe and remember how to think, and the concrete ground seemed like a great place to start. I rested down up against a lamppost on the road, in the middle of the chaos of police, firefighters and emergency medics. The awful red blood was stuck on my hands. It was EVERYWHERE. On my uniform, my face, my pants, everywhere. Just looking at it drove me back behind my eyes and back into the garden with the screaming man. And he lay there dead. Blaming me. I couldn't control my nerves anymore. I guess you could say that I broke down there. Hands shaking badly. I tried to take a slow and very ragged breath. But I couldn't stop hyperventilating. I had a moment of total panic. A feeling of complete disorientation. The place was wrong. Lieutenant one-sixty-two collapsed to her side with her head down on the concrete. Everything went black. I WOKE UP COVERED WITH SWEAT, NOT SURE WHERE '''I was, and absolutely certain that something terrible was about to happen. Somewhere not so far away, something was searching for me, sliding through the surroundings like a shark around the reef. I was so certain. I could almost hear the steps of the boots. Something was out there. I sat up in the little bed and peeled away the nestled sheets. The Central General hospital's recovery room. The room looked unmistakably like it. The bedside clock said it was 00:15. Five hours since I'd gone responding to the barricaded suspects, and I felt like I'd been slogging through the jungle the entire time with an elephant on my back. I was sweaty, stiff, and stupid, unable to form any thoughts at all beyond the certainty that something was after me. Sleep was gone for the night, no question. I turned on the light. My hands were clammy and trembling, still. I wiped them on the sheet, but that didn't help. The sheets were just as wet. I stumbled into the restroom to wash my hands. I held them under the running water. I forgot to turn on the lights, but the dim light from the clinic lit it up just enough. The tap let out a stream that was warm, room temperature, and for a moment I was washing my hands in BLOOD and the water turned RED. Just for a second... in the of the bathroom.... the sink ran BLOODRED. I closed my eyes. It all started to feel like a nightmare. Close your eyes and then open them, a voice said in my head. The illusion would be over and it would be simple clean water in my sink. Instead, it was like closing my eyes had opened a vision into another world. It felt like I was back. I opened my eyes again. The water was just water. But what was I? I shook my head violently. Steady now, girl; no Sookie off the deep end, please. I took a long breath and peeked at myself. In the mirror I looked just like I used to. Carefully, strong and composed features, unmistakably Hispanic. Calm and mocking brown eyes. Except that my hair looked like shit. There was no sign of whatever... it was that had just sped through my brain. I went back to bed and closed my eyes again. Darkness. Plain, simple, darkness. No blood, no one hunting me or trying to hurt me. Just good old Sookie with her eyes closed. I opened them again. Hello there girl, so good to have you back. But where on earth have you been? '''THE NEXT MORNING IT WAS RAINING AND THE traffic was crazy, like it always is in Los Santos when it rains. Some drivers slows down on the slick roads. That make the others furious, and they practically lean on their horns, screamed out their windows, and accelerating without regard to their safety. Fishtailing wildly past the slowpokes is a sport in LS and there's bonus points if you wave your fists. I finally got off onto the downtown roads and went only a little faster. I took a detour to the doughnut shop on Pasadena boulevard. I bought an apple fritter and a cruller, but the apple fritter was gone almost before I got back into the car. I like food. It comes with living the good life. The rain had stopped by the time I got to work. The sun shone and steam rose from the pavement as I walked into the lobby and marched for the Media Relations office, my office. My little corner in this crazy world. It was settling to find out that nothing was out of order. So I sat down and speculated over the nightmare last night... while digging into the cruller. But where on earth have you been? I asked myself. That, of course, was the question. I have spent most of my life without dreams and, for that {C}matter, hallucinations. No visions of the Apocalypse for me. Nope. No troubling religious icons burbling up from my subconscious, I'm not even an agnostic but an atheist. Nothing ever happens in Sookie's desolate night. When I go to sleep, all of me sleeps. So what had just happened? Why did this picture appear before me in? I splashed water on my face and tied my hair into a ponytail. That did not, of course, answer the question, but it made me feel a little better. How bad could things be if my hair was neat? In truth, I did not know. Things could be pretty bad. I might be losing it. Soldier Sookie's gone. Or maybe she's just hiding somewhere up my mind. What if I had been slipping into insanity a piece at a time for years, and this stabbed man had simply triggered the final fall into complete craziness? The idea is petrifying. After all these years with Super Sane Sookie - all I'm left with is Super Strange Sookie. Everything of this reminds me of Scott, Scott Callahan, my ex who blew his brains out. But blowing my own head is not going to happen. I think that suicide is pathetic. OF COURSE IT COULDN'T LAST. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN that an office-romance had to give way, yield to the natural order of things. After all, I lived in a city where mayhem was like the sunshine, always right behind the next cloud. One and a half week after my first exciting encounter with the man, the clouds finally broke. I was back on planet Earth. No longer flying above San Andreas boulevard with superpowers and saving the city. His name was James Patrick Dailey and he is what I liked to call a classic asshole. You have sex with the guy and it's all downhill from here. It must have been luck, really. I had been hoping for more, much more, still it was a coincidence that I obliged to with a smile. I was having lunch in my office. Owing to the happy outcome of recent sexual events, I had been promoted, pulled out of Idlewood traffic duty sat last and into her very own set of the Lieutenant collar insignia and an office for that matter. I should be happy. After all, this was what I wanted; an end to long hours, arguing nine to five with crackheads for low pay. Any young and reasonably attractive female officer stuck in traffic would sooner or later find herself having sex with her superior. It was the natural order of things. I gotta admit, I still like the short prick. But I had more important things to clear out. And you know what? Things are good. I guess I should still be upset or even offended by my brain playing tricks. But I am not. It feels like someone slipped some LSD into my coffee this morning, because this entire day was beginning to feel like Sookie in Wonderland. I better find James. Instead I found an old familiar face, Brendan, Brendan Noonan. Personality and Traits Category:Law Enforcement Officers Category:Character Category:LSPD Category:Legal Category:Latin-american Category:Latinos Category:Characters Category:Hispanic Category:Officer Category:Detective Category:Special Weapons and Tactics Category:Woman Category:Character Category:Women Category:Russians Category:Character Category:Women Category:Russians